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So, it’s the holidays, and you’ve had your fill of relatives, leftovers, Christmas music, crowds, and Really Bad TV. Suddenly, getting away from everything--just you, a mug of something (hot cocoa, some Earl Grey, the last of the eggnog, a couple fingers of whiskey, whatever), and a good book to curl up with--sounds like the best idea you’ve had all season. But what to read? Maybe something vaguely... festive. (‘Tis the season, fa-la-la, and all that.) The problem--for me, at least--is that most seasonally-appropriate books run toward the treacly, sugar-coated side... and I, most definitely, do not. If that scenario sounds familiar, then no worries; I’ve already done the searching for you, and have a positively-delectable morsel to offer up for your reading pleasure--one which is decidedly more, erm, meaty, rather than sweet (but more about that, later)--the irreverently-titled I Saw Zombies Eating Santa Claus, courtesy of S. G. Browne. …

Relationships--much like dairy products and produce--can go bad when you least expect it (and in really unpleasant ways). Unlike the half-empty carton of lumpy milk you lost interest in or the mushy head of lettuce you just plain forgot, though, soured relationships are a whole lot messier to deal with. There are things almost impossible to forgive, forget, or get past--betrayals, secret lives, abuse, infidelities, criminal acts, major differences about the most fundamental of concepts--any one of which can make the thought of continuing a relationship untenable. But, when all of those things are present--as they are in Merry Jones’ upcoming thriller, The Trouble with Charlie--well, that’s when things can go from bad to worst in a hurry. ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ After some of the stuff he pulled during the ten years they were together, Elle knows she should be glad to be rid of her almost-ex husband, Charlie. There were the lies (so many lies), the infidelities, and the stealing (like when he hel…

A year has come and gone since the infamous butcher who terrorized all of London last committed any of his atrocities against the city’s prostitute community--then simply vanished--but the effects of Jack the Ripper’s murderous spree can still be felt. Daily life has resumed, with the masses still struggling to eke out their meager existences in the squalid, teeming metropolis, while the more-privileged attempt to shield themselves from such ugliness, but the prevalent attitude among all of London’s residents toward the police force remains, to put it mildly, less than favorable. Five women murdered and horribly mutilated... and the murderer still on the loose? Such gross incompetence! No one feels that failure more keenly than do the dozen members of the Metropolitan Police’s recently-formed Murder Squad--the undermanned, overworked (and underpaid) group of men tasked with solving not only the Ripper murders but every other murder in and around London, as well. That frustration--combi…